


The Courtship of Dis

by CircusBones



Series: Durinisms [5]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cultural Differences, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, Loss, Majestic Family Values
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircusBones/pseuds/CircusBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story long in telling, and long in reciprocating. Told between flashbacks to happier times, and in a more somber present, Dis and Dwalin trace the path of loss, grief, vengeance, and lack of acceptance that led them both to where they are after the events of The Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story can't be told without a good dose of sads, yet hopefully no other chapters will be as sad as this first one. Somewhat tied in with A Lover of The Light, but you certainly needn't read it to enjoy this. It simply establishes the timeline I'm working in, and the occasional presence of a certain elf. Hopefully I do this guud.

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Were we too young? Our heads too strong?  
To bear the weight of these lover's eyes.  
'Cause I feel numb, beneath your tongue  
Beneath the curse of these lover's eyes.

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They'd been off routing out the northern arm of the Blue Mountains for weeks. For all their distant kin in those hills had welcomed the refugees of Erebor, at that point in time they still left the business of extending their own halls to their Lord, and Thorin was more than willing to busy himself with that task. The settlement was growing, at last, after so many long years. And there weren't many foul things in that part of the world, not then, but there were enough to keep Thorin and his companions away for a fair amount of time.

Dis hadn't much time to miss her brother though, her own life was quite busy. In the small home she'd called her own since the death of her husband, the daughter of Durin's line was raising two young boys by herself. There wasn't terrible hardship in this. Dwarves, as a rule, looked after their women, related or no, as women were rare and prized. So too were children in those days, really, and while her kin fought far off and her husband had been dead for four years by then, Dis wanted for little in the Blue Mountains.

Just so, while food, company and support were never lacking, the actual raising of her boys fell all to her while Thorin was away. They were good boys, they truly were, if rowdy and rambunctious. There was no malice to their mischief, for all that they drove her to distraction, Fili, looking so much like his father, and Kili, taking more after her brother Frerin. Dis found her joy renewed in them, in their daily triumphs of learning sums and letters. She filled their heads with what a good man their uncle was, how he'd taken care of their mother through the years of wandering the wilds, living in towns of Men and keeping her safe until he found them a home, and how that, when he came back, they should mind him as they would her.

Of course, Dis forgot to plan on Dwalin. She forgot to warn her little boys, about the boasting younger brother of Balin, who was her own brother's close companion. True, he wasn't so much younger than she, but, well. She really ought to have remembered him in her equations, given that he'd loved her since before either of them were of age, and took especial interest in her well-being.

“Unca' Thorin!” Kili barreled into him on their return, practically crawling up his armor while Thorin laughed, deep and loud and long. His nephews were the one thing he could consistently be counted on to take joy in, in those days. Fili, at nine years old, was somewhat more self-possessed, but only barely, hanging on his arm with relish. Dis loved to watch it, standing in her doorway, watching them escort him to her, Dwalin and Balin laughing behind.

“I see you've kept your mother well!” Thorin spoke, hugging her close when he was near.

“Well, best as we can, you know...without weapons.” Fili noted, hinting none-too-subtly, scuffing his feet. Dwalin bust out laughing at that, even as his eyes lingered on her. Dis could not pretend that she didn't look forward to the attentions, but, well. The persistent ache in her chest kept her from feeling more, as it long had. Still, his direct gaze was always stirring.

“So y'said when we left!” He reminded her eldest then, ruffling Fili's hair and reaching back to his pack, “Lucky for y'boys, I remembered!” Before Dis could say a word, Dwalin drew out two small wooden swords, whittled and sanded on their road no doubt, and the boys were off, yelling and swiping at each other, before she could stop them.

“Oi!” She cuffed him upside his mohawk, pleased when the big warrior winced, “Y'could've checked with their mother first, y'great lug!” 

“They're outta yer hair, aren't they?!” He laughed, and Dis tried, but failed, to stay angry, her lips twitching as she met his eyes, all merry and mischievous. 

“...All right, you lot get yourselves inside, supper's waiting...”

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She stood waiting, watching the caravan wind its slow way up the mountain. She saw, long before she could hail any of them, the two cairns drawn by wagon and pony up the path, and had ample time to steel herself, to school her features. Dis' grief churned and twisted inside of her, but she was still a daughter of Durin. She was the daughter of Thrain, of Thror. Their people were watching her as this party returned. As they returned not as the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, but as messengers from retaken Erebor. 

Dis would be strong, now. She must be.

And yet, when Dwalin was the one to reach her first, to kneel at her feet and set her sons' weapons there, there was no power that could hold her emotions in check. When Kili's sword, Fili's knives, their bows, all things they were so proud to have in their boisterous coming of age, were lying motionless in the dust, the great heaving in her chest could not be kept back, and the cry she let out was primal, animal and grief-wrenched. Dwalin offered her his arms, and she took them, gladly. 

There was no weakness in grief, perhaps. In clinging, if only for a little while, being in the sight of so many, to that solid form, those steady shoulders, those arms that held her close to his heart as she wept. Tomorrow, she would stand in stoic honor of their sacrifice. Today, she was a mother who'd lost her little boys, her big brother, and there was no shame in that. 

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so enjoy ickle dwarves.

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“Try again,” Dis said patiently, combing her hair free of the tangled mess Kili had left there, “It took me many tries at yer age to get it right too.” Standing behind where she sat at the table, her young son was looking studious and attentive, as he didn't get for many subjects in the world. This was different. This was something intrinsic to being a grown Dwarf.

He took up a section of his mother's hair in his hands and carefully resumed braiding. On the floor, sitting cross-legged, Fili was trying to master his own unruly locks. And at fifteen, he already had a scruff of yellow beard on his chin that he was cultivating. Kili had to keep up.

Though really, he would just be happy to get hair correctly. A simple braid he could manage. The complicated, winding patterns his mother wore, regally, were another story. All dwarf women were decorative with their hair and beards, but his mother was a Princess. Their people still saw her as one, even so far away from her kingdom. And one day, when he and Fili were grown and if they took wives, they'd be royalty too, and likely wear such complicated styles as well. “A good husband knows his lady's preference with her hair,” His mother often told them, a lesson their father rightly would have taught, “In the mornings, it's the finest respect and love to show each other, setting each others braids for the day.”

Dis often wove her hair with what treasures remained to her from Erebor, clips of silver flowers or moons, set with the blue gems she favored in her ropes of hair, the long braids that fell from her sideburns down to her waist. Those Kili could manage. The intricate net of braids on her head, however...

“My fingers are too stupid,” The ten year old sighed, making his mother laugh, merrily. But he kept trying. 

There was a knock on their door, before it opened in a momentary bluster of cold. Mister Dwalin was there, kicking snow off of his boots and giving the three of them a wide smile, “Fili lad, help me with this!” The big man called, and his brother leaped up to assist Dwalin with the big bundle in his arms, wrapped in burlap, “Dis, this is half th' stag we took down in th' valley,” He told her, and Kili watched his mother's face brighten, even as she shook her head.

“Yer too good t'me, y'mad brute,” She sighed, but only tilted her head, watching as, with Fili to steady the side of meat, Dwalin hung it from one of the great hooks on the ceiling by the kitchen hearth. Dwalin noticed Kili, then, still dutifully trying to master his mother's hair, despite being distracted by the promise of all that fresh meat. 

“Maybe I am, but it's nae anythin' new. How're y'comin' along there, lad?” Dwalin came around behind him, crossing his arms and inspecting Kili's work.

“M'not very good,” The little boy sighed, having come to a place where two braids were supposed to weave together. Dwalin smiled at him, cleaning his hands and then taking the comb from the boy's fingers. 

“Easier t'understand, when lookin' from the right angle...” He paused, looking to Dis. She turned her head, taking in a short breath but then nodding, glancing up at him over her shoulder with her dark blue eyes. Kili never saw her look at anyone like that. Only Mister Dwalin sometimes, who now took her long dark hair in his hands. His fingers looked so big and rough, but when they were in his mother's hair, they moved easily, swiftly, the older Dwarf showing Kili exactly what he was doing to make them weave together, Fili watching over his shoulder. He saw Dis' shoulders relax, her eyes sliding shut, and for all that Kili didn't completely understand what he was seeing, not then, it made something curl happily in his chest.

“There now,” Dwalin cleared his throat, sticking one of Dis' prized baubles into her thick braids, “Tha's a queens' hair, aye?”

“Aye,” Kili grinned, moving around to wrap his arms around her waist. He knew the two of them were looking at each other. And that made him happy.

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A nearly private moment. His hand brushed over her hair, gently, as the two of them sat vigil on the carved, stone bench before the two cairns, side by side, which held her sons. Fingers, rough and comforting, found gems in braids, touching them briefly before sliding his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. There was not much to say, not just then. They'd spoken long into the night about her sons. Many tears had been shed then, after laughing over tales of her ridiculous, good children and their uncle, so that she might be steady this day.

Now it was just the two of them, though, and the wind blowing up from the valley carrying the distant promise of spring. Or Dis thought that they were alone. From within the halls opposite them, a tall figure was approaching Kili's tomb, kneeling. Her hair and ears caught the light from outside, the winding red braids woven behind pointed ears, clasped in gold and emeralds from Erebor. Dis took in a long breath.

“And I'd thought you were simply telling a tale last night, or that my wine was too strong,” She murmured, looking up at Dwalin, who shook his head. Dis processed this surprisingly quickly. Her little boy was gone, and perhaps that made it easier to accept what she was seeing. 

Her headstrong, boasting yet often over-looked youngest. If he'd had someone, even one of -them-, for even a little while before he went...and the girl had come all this way. She'd left her own people and followed him into the West. 

And they were very fine-looking braids.

“Y'should say hullo,” She felt Dwalin pressing a kiss to her hair, and Dis shut her eyes, humming softly.

“I should. I will,” She roused herself, rising, moving toward the elf who shed tears at her son's grave.

 

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End file.
